


Three Halves of a Whole

by GrimTamlain



Series: Summer Dixon [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimTamlain/pseuds/GrimTamlain
Summary: A drabble that included my OC Summer Dixon
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Merle Dixon/Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s), Merle Dixon/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Summer Dixon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569064
Kudos: 26





	Three Halves of a Whole

Merle hadn’t been Daryl’s only sibling, in fact, Daryl actually had a twin sister. She was the prettiest girl either Dixon brother had seen, with long curly brown hair and large blue eyes framed in the thickest longest eyelashes ever. She was tiny where they were big, barely reaching Daryl’s shoulder, but feisty enough that you knew she was a Dixon. But she also knew how to bat her eyelashes and push her bottom lip out in a pout when she wanted something.  
  
When the shit hit the fan, she had been away, having convinced the two brother’s that she needed to be “with the city folk”, and had coerced Merle into helping her pack up her jeep, and she left. So Daryl and Merle didn’t know if they would ever see their angel ever again.  
  
But Daryl knew those locks, dirty as they were, knew that button nose, knew the shape and exact color of the irises of the woman glaring at Rick, as the former cop held her at gunpoint when she got too close to the prison. Knew the exact tilt of her hips, as she cocked them, a defiant look on her face; the same stance and look she had when she had convinced her brothers to let her go to Atlanta, alone. She had a pistol strapped to her thigh, a rifle with a high end scope strapped across her back, and Daryl noticed the bag she had on her hip, the bag Daryl had made specifically for the black throwing knives Merle had painstakingly made her one year.  
  
When her eyes roamed over the rest of the group, her sneer still in place, their eyes met. Daryl felt that same electric intensity he always had when he made eye contact with her, the feeling of coming _home_ , his twin, living and breathing. The sneer left her face, the look of shock he had to be mirroring, but they both started towards each other at the same time, Daryl shoving his crossbow into Glen, almost knocking the Korean over in the process. Then she was in his arms again, the familiar curves pressed into him, her hair—even longer now, dirty—clutched in his hands. He felt the tightness in his chest ease, for the first time since everything fell apart; the way her hands gripped at his hair as she pulled him away to look at her, the exact same twinge of pain, the familiarity of it all, he was lost to her. Like Merle had been. Their angel.  
  
He knew what he wanted to do, knew what she wanted, what Merle would have done anyways, was to crush her to him, touch every part of her, remap her body; relearn every scar, every brand new one that had been made. But they couldn’t, not here, not in front of his family. Merle wouldn’t have cared; he’d have her panting and begging beneath him regardless of any audience, because she loved them both. But she did bite down on his neck, muffling the sobs that were wracking her entire body, that were causing him to shake as well.  
  
“Oh, baby girl,” he crooned, his voice still the usual rasp, pulling her back just to look at her. Her smile, so wide—so trusting—so _her_ ; the way she butted her forehead against his, the way she fit so perfectly against him, like she did with Merle, caused him to drop to his knees, wrapping his arms around her middle and nuzzling his face into her stomach.  
  
Her fingers brushed through his hair, wiping the sweat dampened bangs off his face, her smile so warm. “Darry,” her voice so light, so innocent, so _angelic_. “My sweet Daryl.” She had always sounded so soft, never rough like Daryl and Merle was; her words so proper.  
  
“Daryl?” Rick had holstered his gun, having almost shot it when the two lunged for each other. He was shocked at how familiar the two were with each other, how easily his friend had fallen apart when he saw her.  
  
Daryl wiped his eyes, before standing up, and separating the two of them, knowing that she would want some space. But when she laced her fingers with his, he knew she was his still. “This is Summer,” he said, pride in having his angel back alive evident. “My twin sister.”  
  
  
She hadn’t thought of seeing so many people living in a prison that weren’t people like her big brother Merle. So many content looking people, milling about the yards, carrying baskets of things, killing the dead ones milling at the gates, even _farming_. She hadn’t expected to see the cars surrounding her as she made her way to the road, or the gun being pulled on her by someone who had to have been a cop. He was asking her questions, but she didn’t care, she wanted gone; so she did her best Merle impression, cocky until the very end, her big brother. So she had cocked her hips forward, her hands still raised, the smirk lining up perfectly with her sneer. Letting the large rifle smack across her back hadn’t been pleasant, but being shot by a trigger happy former cop was less so.  
  
She had raked her gaze over the people surrounding her: the cop, firmly planting himself in front of a teenager, the similarities obvious; the Asian standing just slightly behind a pretty brunette; the black woman with dreads, a sword ready to be unsheathed; three more black people, a sad looking man, a pretty female, and a large man, obviously her brother. But when she caught sight of _him_ , her heart nearly stopped. Standing off to the side as he was wont to do, his hair longer than usual, falling into those blue eyes she loved so much, the way she knew he was holding his breath, waiting to pull the trigger on his crossbow. But then she saw the shock register on his face, knowing it matched the same one she had, before they both crossed the distance.  
  
She knew Daryl was always so gentle with her, careful of keeping her safe and protected; never embarrassing her. Merle, he would have been on her, his mouth feverish against hers, his hands questing; touching, rubbing, stroking. But Daryl, her sweet Darry, he held onto her like he would never let her go. She wanted to feel him, _needed_ to feel him, wanted to be held between him and Merle, _feel_ them holding her, touching her— _loving_ her. But her sweet Darry wouldn’t do that, not with people around. So she just bit his skin, laving her tongue against him behind her teeth, stopping the sobs from escaping her.  
  
Then he was introducing her, allowing her to lace her fingers through his, and she saw the shock that everyone displayed. Obviously Daryl Dixon didn’t talk much about family. But she needed Merle, too. Needed to see both of her boys together. She pulled at his hand, getting his attention and he looked down at her, swiping his knuckle across her cheek, just beneath her eye.  
  
“Where’s Merle?” She knew her voice deepened at the mention of his name, knew he saw the way her pupils dilated, saw his do the same, before he looked down and away from her, his eyes pained. “Darry?”  
  
“He turned,” he grunted, pulling away from her, and grabbing his crossbow back from the Asian. He passed a glance with the former cop, and the older man rounded everyone up and led them back to the prison; but she had only eyes for her twin. “C’mon,” he said, leading her away from the prison, into the woods she had just come from. She followed him, her head spinning at the news. Her Merle, turned? As they continued walking, she accepted the news, knowing not everyone lived in this world anymore; mourned for him like she never mourned for their ma, like she never would for their daddy. When Daryl stopped, she had already pulled her weapons off, watched from the corner of her eye as he placed his crossbow down, and turned, waiting. Always waiting, her Daryl.  
  
She lunged at him, fingers hastily ripping at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the garment off his shoulders, exposing him the way she always had, the way she would when they were alone. His fingers, always tactile and dexterous on his bow, clumsy and fumbling as he pulled at her shirt. She dragged the pads of her fingers down his stomach, watching the rippling of his muscles as she tickled him; crying out when his hand closed over her bare breast, thumb swiping over her nipple. She was fumbling at his belt buckle, hurried, wanting— _needing_ ; letting out a crow of triumph when she finally had him stepping out of the ripped jeans—rags more like. She stared down at him, revelling at the look of him, so hard, so warm beneath her hand as she touched him, missing him with every piece of her soul. Then he was picking her up, laying her down on the ground; rucking her pants down her legs, his large fingers brushing over her skin, touching her the way that he knew how. Opening her wide so that he could watch the pleasure skirt across her features; licking across the new scars that were on her thighs, her arms, above her collarbone. Then he was inside her, breaking her and piecing her back together, fitting within her, against her, as if they were two halves of one whole.  
  
Then his lips were against hers, devouring her, plundering her, causing her to arch with a gasp as he slammed into her. His tongue delved into her parted lips, licking across her tongue, before kissing her gently, breaking her heart all over again, at the slow sensual way he did it, had always done it. Her hands scrabbled at his back, running over the scars that branded him; scars that were there to protect her, keep her unmarked and innocent from their daddy. Merle had them too, she knew, both of them protecting her from the lashings, beatings, and worse that their father would have done to her; because of how pretty she was, unmarked, untouched. When his mouth latched on against the column of her throat, his tongue swiping across her pulse, she came, blinding and perfect; broken and damaged, hearing him gasp out before pumping inside her, coating her, marking her.  
  
They lay like that, just stroking and lazily kissing, remapping each other’s bodies. Then her sweet, sweet Daryl placed a soft kiss against her lips, before handing her his customary red rag; her lips pulling into that smile that she knew Daryl and Merle had loved, running her fingers over the material. They dressed, weapons back in place, her fingers still rubbing into the fabric as Daryl led her back towards the prison.  
  
Everyone told her what they knew of Merle, how he was, what he had done, who he had become. She listened attentively, needing to know what her big brother had done at the last. Once they were finished, she sat there, still running the red rag through her fingers, her big wide eyes filling with silent tears. Daryl and Merle had always been loud with their emotions, but Summer, she was different; quiet, unassuming, trusting her big brothers to protect her. She couldn’t tell them what Merle had done for her, just as she couldn’t tell them what Daryl had done for, it was wrong, but it was oh so right. She lay with Daryl in his perch, whispering to him about Merle, about the love she had for both of them.  
  
She talked about her first time; having talked Daryl into it, her twin—her other half. Had felt left out, when Merle and Daryl would go to the bars and troll for girls, leaving her alone on a stool, nursing her whiskey. Had felt the rage she rarely felt course through her when Daryl had touched that blonde. She remembered, sliding off the stool, striding towards her twin, ignoring the calls from the other men. She had hooked her fingers into Daryl’s belt, dragging him from the blonde, from the bar, waving Merle down as he hit on a redhead. She had made her twin drive her home, sitting in a sullen silence. She had sat down on her bed, as Daryl hovered in the doorway, torn between a fuck and his other half. But she had pat the bed beside her, and he automatically sat, laying back when she pushed him down and straddled him. She kissed him, her tongue stroking gently against his bottom lip; he had just whispered they shouldn’t she whispered she didn’t care. Then he was responding back, his hand in her hair, the other sliding up her shirt as he delved his tongue inside her mouth, swallowing her moans and whimpers. He had been gentle, her sweet Daryl; his tongue so warm and wet against her, breaking her apart as she crashed through the waves of her pleasure, piecing her back together as he slowly entered her. His rasp so sweet against her hair, as he moved inside her, her hands gripping his biceps, her legs wrapped so completely around his waist; he whispered how pretty she was, how perfect, his beautiful angel. Her sweet Daryl never spoke dirty to her, cradled her to him as she broke apart again; she saw the panic in his eyes when she refused to let him leave her as he came inside her.  
  
She spoke about her first time with Merle; how he had dragged her to the bar, so that he could have an easy ride home as Daryl was working at the mechanic’s shop that night. She had sat lonely at the bar, a whiskey glass swirling in her hands; she had appreciated the company when the man had sat down beside her and started talking to her. He had pushed her hair behind her ear, as she had been slightly hiding behind the curls, and she had felt her blood run cold; only Merle pushed her hair behind her ear. She had tried moving away from the man, suddenly very uncomfortable, and when he reached for her again, a knife slammed down blade first into the wooden bar between her and the man. Merle was glaring at the man, his fingers sliding over the handle of his blade. “Don’ you touch my baby sister,” he had growled, his drunken slur almost completely gone. He had then dragged her from the bar, dragging her home the way she had dragged Daryl home that first time; except she had been driving home, her hands shaking as Merle cursed his luck, “Had a nice fine piece o’ tail waitin’.” They had pulled into their driveway, and she looked over at Merle, looking up at him beneath her lashes, his gaze never leaving hers. “Come inside, Merle,” she husked, leaning towards him, smirking as his gaze dropped down to her cleavage, staring. She had led him inside, but he had mauled her almost immediately. Ripping at her shirt, her belt, his mouth hot and biting against her throat; he held her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around him, forcing himself inside her, her moaning out at the feel of his cock thick and hot inside her. He had moved so deep inside her, he was so rough with her, a complete dichotomy to how Daryl was with her; but she kept pace, and whereas she broke apart with how gentle Daryl had been, she was shattered by Merle, feeling herself give way as she soaked his cock with her juices, startling him into coming, groaning about bad ideas and stupid outcomes.  
  
Daryl listened as she told him how she explained her lack of virginity the day after to Merle, how her two brother’s were the only ones for her, needing them both like she needed air. How Merle had cursed them all, saying they were walking right into the inbred jokes; but then her eyes had been wide, filling with tears, his angel hurt by his words. He had growled at her and taken her again, causing her to drench his cock again and as Merle came with a shuddering jerk, Daryl had walked in, his face impassive. She had looked at them both, the two parts to her soul, and beckoned her sweet, sweet Daryl to her, riding him slow and easy like he liked, Merle watching with the dark look in his eyes. Summer told her twin, how Merle would take her anywhere and everywhere: the back of his truck, the top of the hill, even one time in the mechanics garage. But when Daryl took her, it was quiet, behind closed doors, soft and sweet just like he was.  
  
She cried against him, her face buried in his neck, as she mourned for her hot-headed brother, her reckless hero. When Daryl pinned her beneath him, and slid home, he was still sweet and gentle, quiet, but when she came she drenched his cock, and knew Merle was still a part of them.


End file.
